Down, down with Bacchus, down, down with Bacchus;
from this hour renounce, renounce the Grape's tyrannick pow'r;
Whilst in our large, our large Confed'rate Bowl,
and mingling vertue, mingling Vertue, chear the Soul.
Down with the French, down with the French, march on to Nantz,
For whose, for whose dear sake wee'l conquer France;
And when, when th'inspiring Cups swell high,
their hungry, hungry juice with scorn, with scorn defy.
Rouse, rouse, rouse, rouse, rouse royal boyes,
your forces joyn, to rout, to rout the Monsieur and his Wine;
Then, then, then, then the next year, our Bowl shall be quaff'd,
quaff'd under the Vines in Burgundy.